


Deceit

by cywlwhip



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: AU, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-05
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2017-12-31 13:51:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1032442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cywlwhip/pseuds/cywlwhip
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You know you're being a hypocrite. But you can't help but be jealous, suspicious even, when Cosima suddenly starts pulling away, making up bullshit excuses why you can't spend time together. Hurried phone calls, laptops slammed shut mid-sentence, random excuses that she forgets the next morning. You're pretty sure she's cheating, and it breaks your heart. </p><p>AU where Cosima and Delphine have been together since undergrad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

You're convinced she's cheating on you. It’s the only possibility, the only reason why she’s been so distant, so secretive. It breaks your heart.

You know you're being a hypocrite. But you can't help but be jealous, suspicious even, when Cosima suddenly starts pulling away, making up bullshit excuses why you can't spend time together. Hurried phone calls, laptops slammed shut mid-sentence, random excuses that she forgets the next morning. 

In retrospect maybe it had been too easy. You'd gotten together when she was an undergrad, you her TA. You hadn't meant to fall into a relationship with her, but the way her eyes sparkled, the way she said your name, _Delphine_ , like it was a secret, drew you in until you couldn't let go. You'd meant to befriend her, not fall in love with her. It'd made your life infinitely harder, made the secrets harder to keep on both sides, but you'd done it, because she was Cosima and you were Delphine and when everything seemed like it was falling apart that always made sense to you. 

Except now. Cosima's distance is sudden and jarring, and you mentally check the last few months, searching for clues, why she's pulling away now. Maybe she resents you for pushing Minnesota so hard, hates you for pulling her away from her parents and the California sun but, no, she'd been excited to come here, taken you out for a memorable night on the town when you gotten your job offer and acceptance, respectively. You'd gotten them the same day, and she called it fate even though you knew better. You search your memory for something going wrong, something you did, something she said, but you come up empty and somehow that's not reassuring, either. 

It takes a week after you decide to confront her for you to actually do the deed. A week of more excuses and rushed dinners and you realize you're more like ships passing in the night than girlfriends. You stay at her place every night just so you can be close to her, even if she's unconscious, because she gets home after you'd fallen asleep and leaves before you awaken. You'd worry that it's creepy, you falling asleep alone in her bed, but you miss her so much that it doesn't really matter. And if she is cheating, then your relationship has an end date and you’re going to squeeze every last moment out of it that you can.

Finally, though, you can't stand it anymore and you sit her down, in a coffee shop away from her computer and phone and books and distractions, and just as you're blowing a cooling breath over your coffee mentally going over how you’re going to start this impossible conversation, she looks you in the eye and says there's something she needs to tell you. 

Your heart stops. She senses this, of course, and gives your shaking hand a gentle squeeze, and the kindness and warmth in her eyes confuses you. There's a fear too, an edginess, and you steel yourself for what she's about to say. And then she says it, and your heart stops, for reasons you'd forgotten to fear. 

Clones. 

You'd practiced your look of surprise in the mirror, long before you'd met. Dr. Leekie had told you that they'd been tracking Cosima closely ever since she'd transferred from chemistry to biology, wary that the deeper she got into the field the more chance she could stumble into the truth. They couldn't stop her, of course; the experiment mandated non-interference, but that didn't mean they couldn't slip people into Cosima's life to watch, to be there for her when the truth unfolded in front of her eyes, to guide her in the right direction, into DYAD’s arms, before she even knew what was happeneing. You didn't expect her to find out so quickly - or from someone else. You'd planned on discussing her biology hypothetically over identical genomes, the mystery slowly unfolding before both of your eyes. Not abruptly over coffee and photocopied passports. 

But here you are, and you hope your face remembers to look surprised, because your thudding heart, both the surprise and relief, overpowers your ability to think. 

Cosima is, naturally, fascinated with the subject, hands flying as she explains how she found out the truth, the phone call in the middle of the day from a cop in Canada. Her gaze softens as she apologizes once, twice, three times for keeping it a secret from you for so long, and you realise the fear in her eyes was of your rejection, your anger, not the other way around. It takes everything you have to suppress your nausea as you forgive _her_ for keeping the secret of her biology these last few weeks. If only she knew - but she's not allowed to know, so you shut your mouth and listen with a smile as she excitedly tells you about her theories. 

You decide not to tell Leekie because, well, technically she didn't find out through something she studied at school, and that's what you were sent in to monitor, right?

The status quo works, for a little while. You nod along as she researches cloning and Dolly and tells you about seeing her clones for the first time, how they're so different and yet the same and isn't that crazy?! You smile as she waxes philosophical about what it means for science, for progress as a human species, and you think maybe you could tell her. She'd understand, support, even, what DYAD is doing. But you hold back because deep down you know she wouldn't - mostly because you're starting to doubt those lofty ideals yourself. You stay quiet when she's still, high out of her mind and realizing what this means for _her_. You comfort her when she sobs at the realization that she's not special; not unique. How many of her are there? You want to reassure her, tell her without a shadow of a doubt that there's no one like Cosima Niehaus in the world. But you can't - because you're not supposed to know that kind of thing. 

You don't speak to the other clones; strictly speaking, Cosima wasn't supposed to tell you until the three of them decide who to trust, but, she tells you with shining eyes, she trusts you and besides, you're the only one who'll understand the science too. And when she tells you gravely about the European clones who are mysteriously dying, well, you knew that already, and so does Leekie, so as long as she's telling you things you all already know, you're in the clear. 

And then Beth dies. 

Cosima tells you with tears in her eyes that don't fall. She and Beth were never that close. They'd fought, a lot, about what to do, and you can see how it weights on Cosima. Their last words were in anger and you worry that Cosima blames herself. You forget to tell her that that’s what being a sister is – fighting over stupid things and loving each other all the same. Cosima never had siblings, doesn’t understand, and you hate yourself for not figuring that out sooner, when healing words would have helped. You hate that she blames herself; of the two of you, you're probably, technically, the more at fault for Beth's death, but telling Cosima that isn't going to help anyone now. You don't know why Beth jumped in front of a train, but if you had to guess, being in an illegal experiment, one that you are, technically, helping to run, is probably a good place to start. 

Leekie doesn't mention Beth's death but you figure it's because you're not supposed to know, so you don't tell him about that, either. 

And all of a sudden Cosima's talking about a new clone, Sarah, who frustrates your girlfriend almost as much as Beth did, though you see Cosima trying to be patient, trying to learn from what she thinks are her mistakes. And then Helena arrives in vengeful fury, and you know the clock has started its countdown, at least as far as Leekie is concerned. It's too much, too fast, and soon he and the Neolutionists will figure out that Cosima and Sarah and Alison all know each other and, more importantly, that you've been lying for months. 

You brace yourself for Leekie, barging into your room in the night. Or calling. Or anything. You prepare your defense, the technicalities, the non-interference on which your involvement is based. 

But, as usual, it turns out you were preparing for the wrong fight. You're caught off guard when Cosima casually, too casually, mentions over dinner that it turns out Beth's boyfriend was monitoring her and that's probably why she offed herself. You can't wipe the anguish, the guilt, off your face fast enough to slip by Cosima. Her expression hardens in an instant and before you can reach out and explain, before you can lay out all the technicalities that prove that one day you might end up choosing her over them, she's gone, door slamming behind her. 

She doesn't answer her door when you knock a few hours later, and she doesn't answer her phone but you can hear it ringing on the other side of the door. Your heart seizes for a moment, terrified that both Cosima and Leekie have found out about your deception on the same night, but then you hear her phone smash against the wall followed by a muffled sob and, you think, at least she's alive. At least she's free. 

Even though you're sure everything's about to fall apart at the seams there's a part of you that's relieved she knows the truth. If only you'd been the one to tell it to her. 

You walk back to your apartment, alone, after leaving a note asking her to call, including your number because you know she never bothered to remember it since it's in her phone. You try to steady your breathing, stay calm as you run through your options. 

You know, now, that you'll never tell Leekie. 

You open the door to your apartment, and there he is, like the thought of defying him has summoned him into your life again. 

The hair hasn't had time to stand up on the back of your neck before you black out cold.


	2. Chapter 2

Cosima’s never been so angry in her life. She throws her phone across the room, instantly relishing the satisfying _crack_ as it hits the opposite wall, the screen shattering to pieces as it hits the floor. And then it all comes crashing back to her and she collapses in tears. “I wanted to trust you,” she whispers to the empty room. To herself. If she's such a bad judge of character, to let Delphine slip through the cracks… her sisters... clones... they're not safe. Not with Cosima around, blabbing their secrets. She’d been putting them at risk for--

How long had she been putting them at risk?

How long had Delphine been working for _them_ , whoever they are? Cosima mentally slaps herself for giving away the game so quickly. She could have been something of a double agent, spying on the spies, but instead she let her emotions get the better of her, again, and now the best lead they have is gone, out of her life forever.

Cosima tries not to think about why Delphine keeps trying to call her. She tries to tell herself Delphine’s just following orders, just trying to stay in her life. It’s not, she reminds herself, because Delphine actually cares.

She circles back to the question: how long had Delphine been spying on her? Had they gotten to her, somewhere between here and California or had it been the plan all along? Cosima can’t decide what’s worse: that their relationship started under false pretenses, or that, somewhere along the way Delphine decided that they, whoever they are, were more important than her.

“All along, obviously,” says Sarah, rolling her eyes to the webcam as she paces Felix’s loft. 

“Sarah!” Alison says.

Cosima fixes her face in as neutral expression as she can, but Sarah gives her an apologetic look, anyway, and Cosima realizes that having Sarah pity her is worse than anything that’s happened so far.

“So what have you told her?”

“Sarah!”

“It’s fine, Alison,” says Cosima, then sighs, bracing herself for the reaction her words will bring. “Everything. I told her everything… she was helping me sequence our DNA, the German’s… everything.”

"Cosima!"

"Oi, are you gonna add anything to this conversation other than shouting our names? I'm pretty sure we've got 'em down by this point."

"Sorry," says Alison. 

“I thought we agreed not to tell anyone, Cos.”

“Yeah well,” says Cosima, rolling yet another joint between her fingertips. “She wasn’t just anyone.”

They hang up a while later, having come to the conclusion that, if Delphine’s working for _them_ then at least she probably hasn’t learned anything from Cosima that she didn’t already know. That irks Cosima; how many hours had they spent in the lab, staring at slides and sequences, when Delphine could have told her the answer from that first moment in the coffee shop? Delphine knew everything - except that they know each other, Cosima points out when no one else will, and Alison and Sarah can only quietly nod in agreement.

Cosima hates that she cracks her door open after she hangs up with them, secretly hoping to find Delphine curled up beside her door with a cup of coffee and an apology. She hates that, even as Dephine’s betraying her, she can’t let her go.

She scoops up the piece of paper by the door, recognizing Delphine’s terrible handwriting, and what must be her phone number. She crumples it up, briefly holds it over the trash can, daring herself to let go. But she's weak and deposits it on the nightstand on Delphine's side of the bed instead, a rough approximation of where her head should be. 

Cosima tries to carry on as normal. She goes to class and dodges Scott when he asks where her hot girlfriend’s gotten to. She holds herself together as Alison starts to fall apart, trying to figure out if her husband is her monitor, too. Cosima can’t blame Alison for being so paranoid.

She tries not to miss Delphine, tries to remember that she’s been betrayed, sold out, but the scrap of paper on her bedside table haunts her as she tosses and turns, unable to fall asleep. Finally, after three restless nights she grabs it angrily dialing in the number on her clone phone, early morning logic making her careless, tying this phone to Delphine.

She nearly throws it across the room, too, when Delphine’s voicemail clicks on. She tries not to cry when she hears Delphine’s voice softly instructing her to leave a message. Cosima hangs up the phone without saying a word, sets it on her table, and lies still in her bed until the sun comes up, rises high in the sky, then sets again. 

Cosima sees the flyer for the Neolution lecture a few days later on a telephone pole and it immediately grabs her attention. Delphine loves that fringe science shit, she thinks to herself, then nearly walks into the pole, shocked at how obvious it all is, in retrospect. Of course Delphine would be interested in fringe science. Cosima scribbles down the time and the date of the lecture, with some dude named Dr. Leekie, and shoves the paper into her bag. Maybe Delphine will be there. Cosima’s not sure what she’ll do if she sees her, but the possibility makes her heart thump in her chest in a way she doesn’t hate.

She hates herself for that.

The lecture isn’t anything that special, apart from the weirdos with died hair and one white eye. Cosima sits behind them, glances at them every once in a while as they eat up everything Dr. Leekie says. Self directed evolution. Human rights. It all makes Cosima roll her eyes. Yeah, Delphine would definitely eat this shit up – but Cosima doesn’t see her in the crowd and after a few minutes of picking at appetizers and watching people interact around her, she slips a bottle of wine into her bag and heads out the door. It’s not until Sarah mentions club Neolution that Cosima puts all the pieces together. She mentally congratulates herself for pegging Delphine so well that she wandered into a random lecture held by the very institute that employs her.

Delphine still won’t pick up her phone. Cosima hates her for it. Here she is, making herself vulnerable, and Delphine knows that. Even if it was all fake, Delphine knows her and she knows what it’s taking for Cosima to call her like this, and still she won’t pick up. Like she’s the one being hurt by all this. 

Cosima’s not sure what she’s planning to do when she goes to Dr. Leekie’s second lecture. Maybe she thinks she’ll see Delphine there. Maybe she’ll confront the man himself, tell him that _she knows_ and let it all fall from there. Honestly she’s too angry to think straight, and maybe that should be a sign that she should probably stay home, but she’s hurting and betrayed and it’s her life, and she’ll do what she wants. She listens, really listens, to the lecture this time, reading between the lines and it hits her, again and again, how obvious it all is. How clearly and neatly it all ties together. Neolution. Cloning. Delphine. Her. She spends the last ten minutes fuming at her own stupidity, working herself into such a state that as soon as it ends she makes a beeline for Dr. Leekie, shoving past his creepy followers and simpering grad students. She stands herself in front of him defiantly and feels a surge of triumph when she sees the recognition in his eyes. Finally, she’s noticed something.

“And who do we have here?” he asks with a sly smile and Cosima debates playing coy for a moment before throwing caution to the wind.

“I think we both know,” Cosima says, looking him in the eye and daring him to disagree. He shrugs, then offers his hand.

“Aldous Leekie.”

Cosima doesn’t take it, and he lets his hand fall to his side.

“So. Neolution,” she says. “Pretty fringe.”

“I don’t think so,” he says.

“I guess you can’t be too fringe, if you’re already performing advanced experiments,” Cosima says, never breaking eye contact, daring him to contradict her.

“Oh, I wouldn’t go as far as calling our lab rats advanced experiments,” he says with a chuckle, looking around the eavesdropping crowd with a grin.

Cosima bristles. “Lab rats?” she says. 

“Animals,” he finishes. “Rudimentary experiments. Until we get to bigger and better things.”

“Like offspring,” Cosima shoots out without thinking, then sucks back in, but it’s too late. She sees Leekie’s eyes flicker and realizes with a jolt that maybe there are things she still doesn’t understand.

“I have to go,” she says, walking backwards a few steps and sprinting out of the room. The crowd closes in around Leekie but she can feel his gaze watching her as she leaves, feeling very much like a rat in a cage.

Cosima goes home, and she drinks. She’s not a drinker, usually, preferring weed to wine, but she pounds back yet more stolen wine, then her stash that’d she’d been saving for her and Delphine’s anniversary, trying to forget the surprise on Leekie’s face, the way his eyebrow had quirked when she’d opened her mouth and ruined everything. 

She briefly thinks about calling Sarah and Alison to warn them, but she can’t bear the thought of telling them that she’s fucked up, again. So she drinks, instead, until she can’t see straight and she crashes around her apartment, bypassing the formality of a glass as she brings yet another bottle to her lips.

Cosima finds herself in front of Delphine’s door, hours later, not quite sure how she got there. They’d barely spent time at Delphine’s apartment, though Delphine had insisted they live apart when they moved to Minnesota. Cosima couldn’t figure out why at the time. The queer voice in her head tries to quell the oncoming surge of bitterness, reminding her that Delphine hadn’t spent the night at her place in months. Cosima tries to tell herself it’s so Delphine could keep a closer eye on her as she angrily knocks on the door, her bruised knuckles – when had that happened? – rapping against the wooden door.

There’s no answer.

Cosima knocks again, presses her ear to the door and, hearing nothing, takes out her key and slips it into the lock, still stiff from lack of use. She cracks open the door and suppresses a gasp at what she finds:

Delphine’s apartment, stripped bare. All that’s left is Delphine’s phone, vibrating and flashing in the middle of the hardwood floor.

Cosima hesitates for a moment, then lets herself in, the wood creaking under her feet as she makes her way towards the ringing phone. She bends over and picks it up, hitting the answer button before she has time to think about what she’s doing, before her brain can make sense of the long number with an area code she doesn’t recognize.

“Hello?” she says, and her eyes widen in surprise.


	3. Chapter 3

You blink your eyes open, taking stock of your surroundings. You’re in a dark, windowless room, there’s a mirror on the opposite wall.

A lifetime ago you stood behind that mirror, your face in the shadows at the back of the room, impassively taking notes on a clipboard. You took dutiful, neat notes as Leekie and an associate - Mulclair, maybe? - outlined their game plan, how they planned to break the woman screaming in the room next door. 

"The women always defect," said Leekie, with a sigh, and you wrote that down too: "Women Monitors - Defective." You were fresh off the plane then, still adjusting to a new tongue, but there's always been a poetry in your misunderstandings. 

When you squint you can see the shadows on the other side of the mirror. Leekie and - was it Mulclair? Maybe Mulvale? - outlining their game plan. How they're going to break you, too. You haven't started screaming yet. Maybe you should. 

It takes you trying to stand up to realize that you’re bound to the chair, the handcuffs trapping your hands behind your back and to the aluminum. You struggle against your restraints, then stop, slumping backwards. You've seen people try to do that, too, and all they manage to do is hurt themselves more. These defectors' interrogations always end in the same place: on the wrong end of a silencer in the back lot of the building. 

You sit back up in your chair and keep trying to wiggle loose. 

They leave you waiting for a long time; you dip in and out of consciousness, snapping your head up as you try to stay alert, only to have it loll to the side moments later. Your muscles ache, stuck in one position. Your legs, also tied to the chair, fall asleep and you have just enough room to wiggle them awake again. Your tongue bleeds as you bite it, riding out muscle spasms as they come back to life. 

You sit, because you have to, and you wait. 

The come in just before you're body is about to give up. Leekie unlocks your restraints and you slump to the floor, powerless. He stands above you, watching, as you stretch out your arms, and legs, nearly crying with relief. You try to stand up. But you can't. 

Someone behind you hauls you to your feet and drops you back in the chair. Leekie sits down in front of you, opening the file folder in his hands. You can see Cosima's face. It's a new picture, one you haven't seen before. It's been taken from far away, and Cosima looks like she's all right and you allow yourself one small sigh of relief. There are notes scribbled in the margins. You search for your name, for recriminations, for evidence of your deceit. For proof that you're not longer an observer, but the observed. It's not there. 

“So,” Leekie says, drawing out the silences between his thoughts. “Delphine. It seems, we have a problem.”

You fix him with your best steely gaze, grateful your hands are in your lap under the table so he can’t see them trembling. 

You say nothing. He changes tack. 

"We're trying to help them," he says. "Keep them safe. There are people... bad people, Delphine."

The words, "Like you?" nearly fall out of your lips before you can pull them back. Hours of silence, and they expect you to talk? And after having seen what they've done to people, whether they've confessed every sin or said nothing at all?

You're going to die here. You'd rather not have sold out Cosima in a last ditch effort to save your own skin as the end of your life rushes towards your skull. 

Leekie fixes you with a disapproving gaze. You almost laugh. Months, days, ago, that look would have been enough to make you crumble. You'd clung to him, ever since you started at DYAD, young and naive and terrified of your future. Leekie provided a path, and you willingly followed it, a long-distance runner on a well-beaten trail. 

It's surprising how good it feels, crashing into the woods. 

It doesn't take long for your silence to get under his skin. He paces the room, throwing out questions, as if by their speed you'll forget you're not speaking. "What has she told you? "When did she know?" "Why did you do this?"

The last question is forlorn; Leekies face droops and he clutches his hand over his heart. "To me," his eyes finish, but when you stare past him instead of answering, you see the facade drop in the corner of your eye. You've seen that before. You'd pretended not to notice. 

Leekie leaves eventually, passing - Miller? McMillan? - on the way out. Leekie whispers something in his ear, and they both glance at you. Leekie turns away, but Mulgrave holds your gaze. 

Mulgrave - that's what it was. You may not have remembered his name, but you remember his role, and you don't even try to escape as he advances towards you. 

They parade you down the halls, your blood dripping to the floor in front of you. Your head aches. Mulgrave has your left arm slung over his shoulder, supporting you as you hobble forwards. You clutch your right arm to your chest, winding with every step as your shoulder dislocates, again and again. 

You glance warily at the back door as you approach it, then frown, confused, as you pass by. Leekie senses your confusion. 

"We're not done with you yet," he whispers in your ear and you shudder, repulsed. 

You pass by the main lab and Leekie holds your head up so you have to make eye contact with every scientist and fellowe that you pass. You smile at them, your lips cracking. None of them can meet your gaze, their eyes firmly glued to the floor. 

They shove you, un-handcuffed, into a small room and lock the door with a heavy clank. You sink to the floor, finally alone, your cheek pressed to the cold floor. "I'm sorry," you whisper to the concrete and days of tears finally begin to fall. 

But Cosima's alive, for now, and maybe that's worth it.

The room you’re in, wherever it is, vents into Leekie’s office and you overhear their plans, the way they hope to ensnare Cosima and Alison. You hear a voice that sounds like Cosima’s join the fold, coldly asking for updates over a crackling phone line, and it sends a shiver down your spine. You overhear them puzzling over “Beth’s” last exam, and you realize they’re closing in on Sarah, and Kira, and though you haven’t prayed in years, you pray for them. Maybe you're not allowed to anymore, maybe you never were, but you do it anyway, the familiar rosary falling from your lips. 

The last time you prayed you were in a church, in your hometown, dragged by your parents who refused to listen to your protests. You'd read about Galileo, and had been thoroughly upset. You spat the Eucharist in the priest's face, the wine and wafer soggy in your mouth. Your mother had dragged you out by the scruff of your neck, and you'd never returned. 

You spit blood in Leekie's face, the first time he checks up on you, and your eight-year-old self cheers from the pews. 

Your vision's a little hazy after that. 

But it’s the first choice you’ve made in a long time, and though it’s only your mind playing tricks on you, it makes the welts on your arm hurt a little less. Still, if you’d chosen earlier, instead of letting the status quo pick you up and deposit you here in this room – and where else did you expect to end up, really? - then maybe Cosima and her sisters would be safe now. Instead of sitting in the middle of a trap they don’t know is about to spring into place around them. That you’re in here – that’s all on you, and you’ve been prepared to accept the consequences of your actions ever since the day you were pulled out of the church, kicking and screaming as the priest wiped wine and wafer off his cheek. Your captivity, you can live with. Everything else, though…

You claw at the walls and try to plan your escape. You know the building well enough, having spent time there – maybe not lately, but you have. You try to construct the floor plan in your mind, mentally projecting the hallway, tracing potential escape routes with the tip of your finger.

You keep trying to stand, but your leg’s probably broken. You prod at it gently and wince when you do, the bloated, swollen skin foreign against your hand.

You’ll crawl your way out of here, if that’s what you have to do.

The beatings get more angry, violent, as you hear them in the next room trying to puzzle out the missing clone. You try to picture Cosima as they beat you, her smiling face, the way she’d look at you at the end of a long day in the lab, exhausted and ready to go home. With you. You let the warmth of that look course through you, the knowledge that, in those fleeting moments, Cosima looked at you like you were her home, her safe place, her sanctuary. 

You’re not, anymore, and she’s probably realizing that you never were. Your heart clenches at the thought, and the Cosima in your mind frowns, starts to cry, and backs out of the lab, leaving you behind with your microscope and slides. You try to remember instead the knowing smirk she’d get when she came to an answer before you could stumble to it yourself. She’d always been smarter than you, always one step ahead; even when you were her TA you were more like peers. Now you’re nothing at all.

You hear them mention Helena. They’re getting closer, burrowing into the truth. You still haven’t said a word, but that matters even less than you’d hoped it would. They think it’s Helena who’s taken over Beth’s life, though, and you breathe a sigh of relief at that. It’ll buy Cosima time, at the very least; they’re afraid of Helena. As obsessed as Leekie is with their capture, they’ve already lost three DYAD employees to her, their necks snapped back as she fled from their grasp. They’ll stay back until they’re absolutely certain of what they’re going to do. You hear them mention your name once, the Cosima-like voice asking if you’ve been broken, and for the first time you hear Leekie cowed as he’s forced to admit you haven’t spoken a word since you got there.

He calmly watches as you’re thrown against the wall, as your scars are re-opened, your bruises re-ripened before they have time to heal. 

You’re not sure why they’re keeping you alive. You try to be grateful that they are.

Still: why? There must be some purpose, some reason they’re keeping you here instead of taking you out to the back wall and putting a gun to your head. Maybe they think they can use you for bait, as incentive to lure Cosima in. That’s too far past impossibility to even consider. The look on Cosima’s face when she’d realized the truth, in a split second, is enough to convince you of that. You’ve born witness to the people she’s frozen out of her life; for someone so loving and curious about people, she’s quick to judge, and quicker still to cut ties. She’d confessed to you once that she couldn’t handle the negative energy, choosing instead to focus on the positive people in her life instead of nurturing relationships that will only take away from her. That scared you then, but you understand it now. If you were her, you’d never look back either. But if that’s what’s making them keep you alive, you’ll keep it to yourself, at least until yet another truth you’ve been withholding comes to light.

Their meetings move somewhere else, and you’re left with only the voices in your head to keep you company. Maybe that’s all they were to begin with, their conversations creations of your addled mind.

You jolt awake to the feeling of someone crashing into you. The door clanks shut and you hear faint whimpering. You crane your neck to get a look at the intruder, and your heart shudders to a stop.

It’s Kira. Of that, you’re completely sure.

She doesn’t look like Sarah, not really. Her hair’s too frizzy, and she’s so small. And though you’ve never seen Sarah, though you know she’s just as tiny as Cosima is, the last word you’d use to describe Sarah is small. But there’s an energy to this little girl, a rigid defiance that reminds you of Cosima, and there’s no other person in the world who could raise a child like this. Even if she is crying her eyes out, begging to go home.

You pray for Mulgrave to come back, to beat you senseless, because right now, that’s what you deserve. It’s your fault this little girl is here. 

She clings to you as she cries, and you try not to wince or pull away as her grip crushes your ribs closer together. You hold her tight. Your mouth opens and closes, reassuring words on the tip of your tongue, but they all ring hollow and false in your mind so you squeeze her tighter, face buried in her curly blonde hair and wonder what part of Sarah’s genetic sequence that came from.

“Who are you?” she asks through her tears, and you feel her turn her head to look up at you. You gently press hour hand in top of her head, stopping her from seeing your face. It may be her future, too, but you'll protect her from it as long as you can. “Do you know my mom?”

You shake your head, no, because it’s the truth.

“Aunt Alison?”

You shake your head again, breath caught in your lungs as you wait for her to ask about Cosima. But she doesn’t.

“Why did they hurt you?” she asks instead, tracing the marks on your arm, and you try not to shudder.

“They’re bad people,” you settle on, unsure of what she knows. That seems to satisfy her, because she nods and nestles into your chest. You pull her tight, your body shielding her from the door, and the people outside it. A fruitless attempt, maybe; they’ll tear through you like paper if that’s what they want to do, but it’s the thought that counts when you don’t have anything else. 

“I miss my mom,” she whispers, her voice cracking again. “But she’ll come find us,” she finishes, defiantly, and you can hear Cosima’s stubbornness in her voice.

“She’ll come find you,” you whisper back. “I bet she’s looking right now.

You fall asleep clutching each other, seeking comfort from the other that neither of you is able to give. Her tears slow, then stop, as she’s lulled to sleep. You sing a lullaby under your breath, your throat crackling from disuse. It’s one your mother always sang you, when you were hurt, or upset. Kira won’t understand the French, and your throat’s still a little dry, so you hum it instead, your mind a thousand miles away, back home in your bed, your place, your home. You rub her back, even though it hurts you to move, lulling her to sleep, the only refuge either of you has left. It’s only when her breathing slows and steadies that you allow yourself to cry.

At least you know why you’re alive, now.

You wake up and your arms are empty, and the ghost of a scream is already out of your mouth when you realize you’re in your apartment, the one you convinced Cosima you needed to rent, safe at home and in your own bed.


	4. Chapter 4

“I thought you were dead,” Cosima sputters out, before she has time to consider how that sounds. 

There’s silence on the other end of the line. Cosima grimaces at her lack of tact, cursing the alcohol coursing through her system.

“Oh,” is all Delphine’s mother says. 

"I'm sorry, I just meant--"

"She told you we were dead?" she asks, and Cosima can hear the hurt in her voice. It’s not her fault – Delphine’s the one who lied to her mother – but Cosima can’t help the way her stomach flips, like she’s the one who’s done something wrong.

"She hasn't exactly been forthcoming," Cosima says. "I'm not sure if she ever said that you were, exactly. I kinda just assumed…"

"You said you’re a friend of hers?"

Cosima chews the inside of her lip. 

"Please," Delphine's mother continues. "We haven't heard from her in days, and now a stranger is answering her phone."

"I'm a friend." Cosima says. 

"You are!" says Delphine's mother. "Do you know Cosima? Delphine's girlfriend? We've been trying to each her, but we know nothing about her. I even tried looking online, but there’s nothing about her. I’m starting to think she doesn’t exist."

Cosima lowers the phone from her face. She swallows, blinking back tears. Though she hadn’t known about Delphine’s mother, she’d known about her.

It’s hardly surprising she’s been invisible online, though – one of the first things Beth had done after she’d called was insist that they all remove themselves from the internet, to protect themselves from facial recognition software and prying eyes.

How little they’d understood of their situation back then.

"Hello? Are you there?" Cosima lifts the phone back to her ear. She takes a deep breath.

"Mrs Beraud--"

"Cormier. Our name is Cormier." Delphine's mother corrects. "But please, call me Annais."

Cosima hesitates. "I'm sorry," she says, "I don't know who Cosima is."

"Oh," says Annais. "Will you still help? Please, if you're a friend--"

"I'm sure Delphine's fine," says Cosima. "She probably on her way to see you right now and forgot her phone. Goodbye."

Cosima starts to hang up when she hears Annais shout, "Wait!" She hesitates for a moment, then caves. 

“I really don’t think I can be of much help,” Cosima says.

"Please. Can you tell us your name? If we tell the police that Delphine's friends haven't seen her, maybe they'll listen.”

"They won't listen to you?"

Annais pauses. "She ran away. Several times. As a child, as an adult. They said she has a history and as long as we cannot prove she hasn't just stopped speaking to us, there's nothing we can do. Please. All we need is your name and your address so they can verify our story.”

"It's Beth," Cosima says, "But I can't help you any more than that."

She hangs up the phone and lets it clatter to the ground. She looks around the empty apartment and wonders where Delphine Cormier could have gone.

"Her mother?" Alison asks, her voice pinching upwards. "Cosima, you should have told her the truth."

"Right. 'Mrs Beraud - no wait, sorry, Cormier, Delphine lied about that too - I don't know where your daughter is, but she's been monitoring an illegal cloning experiment for three years. See ya.'"

"She deserves to know where her daughter is. You could have told her something."

Cosima looks up, surprised, at Sarah. She shrugs. 

"I thought we were keeping ourselves protected, not telling anyone?" says Cosima. 

"A ‘yeah I know her and I’m pretty sure she’s fine’ would’ve sufficed. You didn’t need to get into specifics. Besides, everything’s pretty much gone to shit now, hasn’t it?”

Cosima sits up with a start. She still hadn't told them about the second conference, about her stupid mouth and her stupid ego and her stupid brain. It’s been two days and nothing as happened, long enough to make Cosima believe that Leekie’s surprise was an act. 

Besides, it’s been even longer since she told Delphine about everything; there’s no way Delphine would hold onto something like that, something as groundbreaking as the offspring of a missing clone. If Sarah had ever truly fallen off their radar to begin with – for all they knew, they could all have gps chips embedded in their necks.

"'Cause Delphine already would’ve told him? Cosima?"

"Are you all right?" Alison asks softly. Cosima nods tersely and tries to slump down in her chair, her heart still thudding painfully in her chest. She looks away, unwilling to meet the pity in Alison’s eyes. 

“It’s okay to be upset,” Alison continues. “You loved her…”

“Right until the moment I realized she sold us all out,” Cosima finishes bitterly. “I just don’t understand – she kept calling and calling and then one day, poof, she disappeared.”

“Let me get this straight, you’re actually worried about where she’s gone?” asks Sarah.

“Two seconds ago you said I shouldn’t have brushed off her mom!”

“Her mother hasn’t done anything wrong. Delphine’s a total bitch but her mom’s innocent in this. That’s all I’m saying. Delphine can go fuck herself.”

“It’s easier this way,” says Alison helpfully. “A clean break.”

"I'm just trying to figure out where she went. Her mom said she runs away a lot...”

"So there you have it then,” says Sarah, rolling her eyes. "She's probably holed up with Leekie right now. At Neolution or Dyad or whatever they're calling themselves."

"Yeah," agrees Cosima, rolling her pen around her desk. "Probably."

“Here’s what I don’t get,” says Sarah, and Cosima nearly laughs at how much Sarah sounds like Beth sometimes, all business and straight to the point. She’d stepped into Beth’s role without even realizing it. “We’ve been working under the impression that Leekie and Neolution have no idea who I am, right?”

“Right.”

“But Delphine must have said something, right? So does Paul know I’m not Beth? Do they know about Kira?” There’s an urgency to Sarah’s last question, and Cosima’s stomach churns as she remembers her conversation with Leekie, the way his eyes had flickered before she’d run from the room.

Sarah shakes her head. “Something’s just not making sense here. Cosima, are you sure Delphine told them—“

“I’m sure,” Cosima says, forcefully, too forcefully – Alison and Sarah both give her looks of wide-eyed surprise. “I just mean… she must have, right?”

“Would they really leave Kira alone, though? I’m not a scientist but that’s weird, right? Clones having kids or whatever.”

“It’s unique,” Cosima hedges. “But we have to consider the possibility that you’re being monitored too, and they’re playing some kind of long game, pretending they don’t know who you are.”

“That Delphine’s a piece of work,” Sarah says, and Cosima licks her lips and nods quickly.

“Yeah, she must be,” she says, and they leave it at that.

Delphine's mother won't stop calling. Cosima sighs as Delphine's phone lights up, again, the now-familiar number flashing across the screen. She pushes it aside, trying to focus on the sequenced genome Scott gave her, but it's no use. The flashing light intrudes on her peripheral vision, making any concentrated thought impossible. She picks up the phone, the new voicemail notification flashing on the screen. She hovers her thumb over the unlock button.

Cosima had never felt the need to snoop through Delphine’s things, in all the years they’d been together. Delphine was – had seemed to be – so emotionally honest that Cosima didn’t feel the need. They’d confessed everything to each other. Cosima was the first woman Delphine had ever been with, and Delphine had been the first person Cosima hadn’t felt the urge to run away from after three weeks, and that meant a lot of conversations on how they felt and where they stood.

At least, Delphine had told her she was the first woman. She could have been lying about that, too, though her hesitant earnestness was something Cosima wasn’t sure anyone could fake. They had – she though they had – trusted each other implicitly, never feeling the need to dig or pry into each others’ lives, and all the important things, their emotions and feelings, rather than facts or dates, were plain to see. Cosima frowns at the incongruity of that, as she’s surrounded with nothing but facts and genomes, and unlocks the phone.

Most of what she finds doesn’t surprise her. Her cheeks redden in embarrassment as she scrolls through Delphine’s missed calls list and sees her number more times than she’d remembered calling, sometimes in the middle of the night. And there, too, are Delphine’s mother’s calls, like clockwork, almost synchronized with Cosima’s. The number isn’t labeled in Delphine’s phone – a protectionary measure, maybe in case she called and Cosima happened to glance over and see “Mom” on the screen. Or whatever the French version of mom was. Then again, Delphine’s phone didn’t even have a passcode. Either she was – is – a terrible spy, or she’d figured out how stupid Cosima really was.

It’s what Cosima doesn’t find that surprises her. At first she thinks that maybe Delphine has another phone, like she does, for the sole purpose of secret communications, but as she scrolls she sees them – messages from Leekie. No calls, only texts, but all they have is an intersection, to which Delphine responded with a simple, “OK” every time.

Cosima can’t help but notice that Delphine stopped replying six weeks ago.

She tries not to notice that Leekie hasn’t sent a message since Delphine went missing.

She realizes, too, that apart from her, Annais, and Leekie, no one else has Delphine any messages. Then again, Cosima never talks to anyone either; she and Delphine had been a singular pair, especially since they’d left California, orbiting around each other and ignoring everyone else. Little did Cosima know that they’d been orbiting around Leekie the entire time. 

Cosima returns to puzzling over her genome, reference books piled around her, with a million questions swirling around her head that she knows she can’t answer with the data at hand.

Cosima waits for Leekie to storm into their lives, his ruse shattered, but he never comes. She buys a deadbolt, but as the days pass and no one approaches, Cosima starts to believe that maybe they are playing the long game. Maybe her spontaneous confession hadn’t meant anything at all.

Maybe Delphine did tell them everything.

It’s Alison who calls to deliver the news.

“Leekie threatened Kira,” Alison says, straight to the point as Cosima picks up the phone.

“He what?” Cosima asks. 

“Sarah went after him…” Alison tuts. “I don’t her not to, but she insisted. Anyway, they met up and you know how Sarah is. Long story short, she threatened to go public, and he asked if losing Kira was worth that risk.”

“Where are they now?” 

“At home,” Alison says, and Cosima can suddenly picture Alison, twisting the phone cord between her fingers, like she’s on the phone gossiping about Susan next door. “With Paul, which I don’t understand because he could very well be in league with them too. They’re coming up with a ‘plan’.”

“Shit,” says Cosima. “This is all my fault, Alison.”

“It’s not,” Alison says. “How could you have known?”

Cosima pauses. “Delphine didn’t tell Leekie about Kira.”

“We’ve been over this, Cosima. You have to stop beating yourself up. It’s not your fault. We’re the victims here.”

Cosima’s not so sure about that.

“How’s Sarah?”

“Breaking things. She’s threatening to find Delphine herself and kick her ass.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“Anyway, I just wanted to let you know in case you get an angry, drunk call later. Oh, right, she’s got a bottle of whiskey with her. Not that I can blame her really, if it were my child…”

“I have to go, Alison,” Cosima says. “I’ll call you later.”

“It’s not your fault,” Alison repeats.

“So you’ve said.”

Cosima hangs up the phone, a weight in her chest. She knows that she did this, that she’s the one to blame. The timing’s too coincidental.

It’s also more evidence that Delphine didn’t tattle – at least not about Sarah and Kira. Cosima curses the sparse text messages. What had Delphine and Leekie met up to talk about, if not her ties to her sisters? After all, Delphine had been following her for years. Cosima tries to picture their meet-ups, what they might have said, what they might of done. What about her had Leekie been so interested in that he spoke to Delphine regularly at least once a week? All Cosima had been doing was going to school, hanging out with Delphine, working on her thesis. Though, when she thinks about it, if the subject of her experiment started studying the very topic under investigation, she’d keep a close eye too. 

She tries to go for coffee with Scott to distract herself. He’s shocked when she asks him, looking over his shoulder and then stammering out a yes when Cosima’d assured him she was serious. Cosima’s not quite sure what she wants out of it. Maybe she just wants to pretend that she has friends outside of Delphine, that Delphine hadn’t succeeded in cutting Cosima off from the outside world. That Cosima hadn’t willingly done that to herself. Scott’s nice and friendly and only a little weird, but he pays for Cosima’s coffee and desperately avoids mentioning Delphine and when he starts to lean forward as they say their goodbyes, Cosima turns on her heel and walks away without a word.

She winds up at Delphine’s apartment, because that’s what she does now. She’s not sure why she calls Delphine’s mother, but the number’s stuck in her brain and there doesn’t seem like there’s anything left she can do. She’s tried not to care but her anger has faded, leaving only worry and there’s only one person in the universe who understands how that feels. A part of her hopes that Delphine’s already home, and Annais has been calling just to let her know.

“Hello?” Annais says. She sounds groggy and Cosima glances at the clock, mentally doing the time conversion in her heard.

“It’s Be – Cosima. It’s Cosima.”

She hears Annais sit up out of bed. “Cosima! Did Beth tell you to call?”

“Yeah, sorry –“

“Is Delphine there?”

“No,” Cosima frowns. “I was hoping she’d be with you?”

“How long has she been missing? Beth wouldn’t say…”

“Did Delphine really run away a lot?” Cosima asks.

“How long has it been, Cosima? Please?”

“As a kid – Beth said you can’t report her missing because she ran away? Did she do it a lot?”

“All the time,” Annais says. “It started when she was young, five or six. At first it was innocent, cute, even. She’d fill her backpack with toys and snacks, and head down the driveway, announcing her intention to never return. We live on a farm, the driveway was long… she rarely ever made it to the street.”

Cosima tries not to picture an adorable girl with fluffy blonde hair and a determined look on her face. She fails, miserably. “And then?”

“One day she didn’t stop at the driveway. We found her in town, crying her eyes out in front of the church… well, you must know why it’s so strange that she’d walk herself there. It was after…” Annais pauses, and Cosima frowns, yet another piece missing of the Delphine she knew. “And every time after that she’d get further and further, her plans more elaborate. By the time she was a teenager she stopped announcing her departure. Sometimes she’d be gone for days.”

“And you didn’t try to find her?”

“Of course we did!” Annais snaps. “We’ve always found her. They said it was best to let her run, though, and just remind her that we were there when she came back. We figured her moving to America was just another way to run away, but she’d call every week, so we thought she was better.”

“Maybe she’s just running away from me this time. Sounds like she’s never been able to face her problems head on.”

Annais is silent. Cosima’s stomach flips.

“This is Cosima?” Annais asks for a moment. “Who’s been dating Delphine since she moved to New York?”

“It’s been three years, yes. But we met in San Fransico.” Cosima pauses. “And we’re in Minnesota now.”

“Delphine told me New York.”

“She must have lied.”

“Apparently,” Annais says, and is silent once again. 

“I’m sorry,” Cosima says. “I didn’t mean to be short. I think – I think I’m angry and hurt that she left and I’m figuring out there’s a lot she didn’t tell me.”

“I’m sorry too,” says Annais, her voice softer now. “Of course you are. Delphine wouldn’t withhold anything to hurt you, though, I can assure you of that.”

Cosima swallows her reply. “It’s been a week and a half since I last saw her,” she says instead.

Annais sighs, and Cosima can almost see her nodding on the other side of the line. “Good, that’s good to know, thank you. Have you been separated that long before?”

Cosima thinks for a moment. “No,” she says finally. “She’d always come to my parents for the holidays so…”

“The longest we ever lost track of her was a week,” Annais says. “That’s good – we can tell the police that.”

“A week,” Cosima says.

“The longest week of my life.”

“A week’s not bad for having a runway daughter.”

“When you love someone,” Annais says lightly, “You don’t let them out of your sight for long.”

There’s not much left to say after that. 

Cosima hangs up the phone and paces the room, worrying the phone between her hands, rubbing it like a talisman, like it’ll bring her luck.

“Shit,” she says to the empty room, and thumps herself onto the ground, lying on her back and staring at the ceiling, arms above her head as she takes a steadying breath. “Shit,” she repeats as lifts the phone above her face, squinting at it in the darkness, Annais’ number still on her screen.

She swallows once, twice, and takes a deep breath. She dials and waits for the phone to connect.

“Hello,” she says, when the line picks up. “My name is Cosima Niehaus. I’d like to report a missing person.”


	5. Chapter 5

You've always been an active dreamer. As a child, you'd often wake up screaming, some terrifying image etched in your mind. Your parents would try to console you, to no effect. Your dreams had felt so vivid, so real, and often times you'd wake up in your dreams to be comforted by your parents... who'd then morph into the monsters you'd woken up to escape. The monsters changed, adapted, as you got older, to fit whatever was haunting your subconscious at the moment. But they always felt the same, the way they'd clutch your heart and not let go. 

That's how it feels now. 

But you know you're not dreaming. 

You're willing to test out that theory, though, as you examine your body in the dim light. The wounds are still there, but they look tended to, and your leg's in a cast. You were right about it being broken, then. You prod at your ribs gently with your fingertips and it reminds you that if all this is real then Kira was real, too. She’s still there, trapped in that little room, alone and afraid, without anyone to protect her. You dig your fingers in a little deeper. 

You look around the room. It's hard to see much with the lights out and curtains drawn – you’d gotten blackout curtains to accommodate Cosima’s sleeping patterns on the odd occasion you slept at your place -- but you know you're in your own apartment, and everything's where you left it. There's even still a faint scent of Cosima's perfume. You try not to cry, knowing that the scent will only grow more dim until it fades completely. 

You inch your way over to the light on your bedside table. It's a struggle; you have to twist your hips painfully to move at all, and your legs weighs you down. You try to drag it along but your arm is sore too and you huff, and then almost start laughing as you picture your sorry state. You're a mess. You make it to the side of the bed though, gritting your teeth so hard you can feel tooth dust in the back of your throat, and turn on the light, turning towards the mirror on your closet door. 

You look even worse than you feel. There's a sweater on the floor by your bed - you're not sure if it's yours or Cosima's, your things intermingle in your mind - but you reach down for it, straining, a cry of triumph mixed with pain when you snatch it in your fingertips. You put it on, slowly, and it hurts like hell to bend your arms into the sleeves, but once you're done they're completely covered and if you cover your legs it almost looks like nothing is wrong. You spot some makeup on the table and start to put it on, dabbing out the bruises and cuts and it's not until you're halfway done that you realize how vain and stupid you are, covering yourself like it matters. 

You're good at covering bruises, though, so you figure you might as well finish, since it doesn't take long. It’s like riding a bike, really.

You look away from the mirror anyway. 

After you've made yourself somewhat presentable you realize you can't find your phone. You cast your gaze around the room, but it's nowhere to be found. You laugh at their ingenuity - Leekie doesn't want any more of your blood on his hands, so he cleaned you up, sent you home, and left you to die, knowing there's no one in the world who will come looking for you know. If you had your phone you could call your mother, tell her you're not in New York like you said you were; if you asked, she'd be on the next flight out to get you. But you can't call her. You lie back in your bed and wonder again why they didn't kill you. That would have been merciful, though, and they have no interest in mercy. 

You close your eyes and lay back to sleep. There's nothing in your dreams that could frighten you now. 

You’re awoken from another nightmare by someone banging on the door.

You jerk awake, and there are tears of pain springing to your eyes as you call out a faint, "Hello?" But your mouth is so dry and your voice is so weak that barely a sound comes out. They knock again and - did they just say police? You're half expecting them to kick down the door but instead you hear the familiar sound of a key slipping into a lock and Cosima's voice saying, "--told you, she's miss--"

She stops dead in her tracks when she enters the apartment. She stares at you and the two cops with her swerve to avoid collision, deftly slipping by her as she stares, her hands mid-sentence in the air. 

You're not sure why, but you find yourself blushing. Cosima snaps out of it and frowns, looking around, at everything but you. 

"I swear, it was empty last night,” she says.

The cops nod and look around, their big boots stamping all over your grandmother's rug. You'd meant to bring that over to Cosima's a long time ago, but doing that would have meant explaining its significance to her, that it was a gift from the Jewish family your grandparents hid in their farm during the war. It was a family heirloom of theirs, one of the last they had left but they’d insisted your grandmother keep it and pass it down, your families ever intertwined. As far as Cosima’s concerned, though, you don’t have a past; you may as well have sprung up from the clay. So the rug stayed in your apartment. You’re not sure why you even brought it here at all. 

"I swear, you guys," she says with a laugh, but her smile is too big, to wide, and her eyes glint with something like fear. "I'm not crazy. It was empty!"

Helena's presence has done more damage than you thought. 

She turns to you - well, the wall beside you - and asks quietly, "Was it them?"

It's so small you barely notice it, but you do: one of the policemen pauses, ever so slightly, his hand hovering over one of your textbooks, his body angled towards you. Listening.

You want to give her a hint, reassure you that this is just one more lie you’re telling but you can’t without giving yourself away. "Is there something wrong?” you ask dumbly, “I've been home sick the last few days."

Cosima gapes at you - well, the wall beside you - and sputters. 

"I was here last night. And a few days before too!"

She was checking up on you? You try to not to feel a surge of hope. You fail, miserably. 

"You were mistaken,” you say, and now you’re not looking at Cosima either, staring at the wall behind her head.

“Looks like we’re done here,” one of the policemen says as the other, the one who was listening, does a final lap of the room. He’s too familiar with the space, his hand glancing over furniture. He’s been here before.

“Answer your girlfriend’s calls next time,” he says without looking at you, and you gulp and then nod, your cheeks burning red.

They turn to leave, and Cosima turns too, until the other policeman looks at her askance and she covers, guiding them to the door instead, with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes plastered across her face.

“Thanks for your help, Officers,” she says as she closes the door, then turns to lean against it. She surveys the room, still looking bewildered. You watch her running her eyes over everything, as if she’s trying to convince herself that it’s there, that it’s real. She finally makes her way around to you, and you lock eyes for a moment, before she turns away once again.

“It was empty,” she says.

“Okay,” you say, nodding. “But the policeman… I don’t trust him.”

She looks at you in surprise.

“He… hesitated? Flinched? When you asked if they’d taken me. I think he was Dyad.”

Cosima gives you a dark look. “You think? What, you didn’t meet at the Christmas party?” she says, and you nearly flinch before you remember that you’re not allowed to be hurt by things like that. This was your choice, your mistake. You have to live with it.

“They have Kira…” you say, and Cosima’s eyes go wide. She strides over to your bed.

“How do you know that?” she asks, quickly. “Did you take her?”

You nearly start to cry at that. It’s like she doesn’t know you at all – but underneath it all, the lies and the things you had to do, you’re still you. But she doesn’t know that, and there isn’t time to tell her otherwise. Not like she’d believe you, anyway. 

“No,” you say, nearly adding “of course not,” before thinking better of it. “But I… saw her.”

“Where?” she asks, and she looks odd, standing here, clenching her hands into fists at the side of your bed. You look to your bed and she follows your gaze, her hands unclenching as she gathers your meaning. 

She sits down on the edge of your bed gingerly, and you try not to feel another surge of hope.

“Here. Minneapolis. They have a facility.”

“So that’s why you pushed so hard to come here,” she says quietly.

It’s true, sort of. But Cosima had been talking about the university’s microbiology program for years, so when Leekie had mentioned that they were looking to relocate their facility, you knew exactly where to suggest, already anticipating that, wherever the it was, they’d want Cosima close by. 

“Whatever,” she says. “Where is this place? The university?” she asks. You shake your head. She looks at you expectantly.

“2027 Veyn Avenue.”

“And you’re sure they have her?”

Your ribs ache.

“Yes.”

She leaps up from the bed, jostling the mattress, and you do your best not to wince. “Let’s go find her,” she says, and she’s halfway to the door before you realize she’s inviting you to come along, and she realizes you’re not going to. 

“Of course you’re not coming,” she says.

You shake your head, no. You can barely move; you’re in no position to mount a rescue mission.

“Where’d you go, anyway?” she asks.

You pause. 

You weren’t expecting her to ask.

Not really, anyway. In your head you’d constructed a grand reunion, where you’d cry as you confessed between sobs what they’d done to you. She’d hold you, gently, tenderly, listening and crying, forgiving you through her tears and promising to make you better again.

It may be a fantasy, but you know it’s not far from the truth. Cosima can’t handle to see anyone in pain, and as soon as she learns something’s wrong the rest of her brain shuts down as she devotes her energy to making everything better. She’d forgiven you for forgetting your second anniversary dinner because you stubbed your toe. You hadn’t forgotten, of course, but it was easier to tell her that instead of the truth, which was that you’d spent the day alone in your room, sobbing, as you realized it’d been two full years you’d been lying to her.

But this isn’t dinner, and you don’t deserve the free pass. You didn’t then, either.

You’d stubbed your toe on purpose.

“I can explain the layout to you—“

“It’s fine,” she says. “I’ll call if I run into trouble.”

“Cosima, you can’t go in there alone!”

“What, you think I can’t handle it?”

“You don’t know what they’re like.”

“I’ll improvise,” she says, and she turns to leave again.

“I don’t have my phone,” you remember. “I think they—“

“I have it,” she says, and sighs. “I’ll bring it tomorrow.”

“Please don’t go alone.”

“It’s my fault,” she says, after a moment. “I went after Leekie, I was angry, and…” She lowers her eyes and fiddles with her hands. “You didn’t tell them, did you?” she asks softly.

You picture yourself telling her the truth. No, you didn’t tell Leekie, about Kira or Sarah, about any of it at all. You’ve been lying to him for months. But you’ve been lying to Cosima for years. 

You can see her blaming herself, and you understand now her nervous energy, how she’s nearly itching to get out the door, to set right whatever she’s done wrong. You suddenly see with absolute clarity how much she hates herself. And if you tell her the truth now, maybe she’ll start to forgive you, but any forgiveness she has right now, she needs for herself. 

If she doesn’t, she’ll be locked up in that room with Kira by nightfall.

“I told them,” you say quietly, and her head snaps up. There’s anger in her eyes, but there’s relief, too.

She gives a curt nod. “I’ll call Sarah and let her know where Kira is,” she says. “She’ll want to be here when we go in to get her.”

She leaves without another word.


	6. Chapter 6

Cosima leaves Delphine’s apartment in a daze. She looks up to find herself in front of a coffee shop. She’s not sure why she goes there – the same one where she first told Delphine about her clonage – but her feet take her there automatically and when she finds herself in front of the glowing neon sign she doesn’t fight it. She finds a table in the back, the biggest tea on the menu in hand, and she just sits.

Cosima doesn’t think about anything, for a while. Her mind is deliberately blank, unwilling to think of anything at all. She watches people as they come and go, students, mostly, ordering giant coffees and doctoring them with milk and cream and packets upon packets of sugar, dark circles under their eyes. She watches couples come and go, most too tired to even speak to each other, but she can tell they’re together by the way their elbows bump together, how they have each other’s orders memorized, how they can sit, quietly, at the table, not needing to speak a word to understand each other.

Cosima and Delphine had spent many such nights at the café, decompressing after a long day at the lab, or – more often – poring over another paper, another set of results, desperate to find answers, first to their homework, and then to Cosima’s very essence.

Well – Delphine hadn’t been that desperate, it turns out. 

Cosima takes Delphine’s phone out of her pocket and lays it on the table in front of her, staring at it as she sips at her lukewarm tea, grimacing at the tepid liquid. 

She buys another one, then resumes staring at the phone. She’s not sure why she didn’t give it to Delphine at her apartment, promising, instead, to bring it by later. By all rights she should have thrown it at Delphine and left, never to return.

It might have been because of the bruises on Delphine’s collarbone. They were subtle, faint, but they were there. Cosima spotted them after Delphine had mentioned Kira, and her hair stood on end. After that, it was impossible not to see the signs, how Delphine had winced when she’d sat down on the edge of her bed, the layer of makeup caked on her face, the way she’d protectively held her sleeves down over her wrists. Delphine was one of those people who habitually pushed their sleeves up to their elbows. She always complained about the feeling of fabric over her palms, and yet when she’d spoken to Cosima, Delphine had held them there.

Cosima’s first instinct had been to help her but she’d pushed against it even as the feeling coursed through her body, make her gentle. Weak, too, she’d reminded herself, and she steeled herself against it. Maybe it was a scam, maybe the bruises were the makeup and Delphine was using what she knew against her. After all, she’d done it before, stubbing her toe after missing their second anniversary.

It’s probably all just a ploy, Cosima rationalizes, as she stares at Delphine’s phone, her tea growing cold once again.

She buys another cup.

It doesn’t make any sense. Delphine’s disappearances, her injury, her phone, left behind in an empty room. Cosima tries to assemble the pieces in her mind, but she can’t make them fit together. She doesn’t have all the pieces; she doesn’t even know what the puzzle’s supposed to look like.

Still, she could turn her back on Delphine now, if she wanted to. She could walk over to Delphine’s apartment, slide her phone through the mail slot, and be done with her forever. No one would blame her for, no one in their right mind would say she was in the wrong. But here she is, contemplating a phone with a cold cup of tea in the middle of a coffee shop.

Cosima walks home, the phone burning a hole in her pocket.

***

She returns to her apartment to find two familiar faces – her own – slumped outside the door. “Sarah?” she says, and Sarah’s head snaps up, bags under her eyes but a fire burning within them. Alison’s there, too, looking less haggard but just as stressed, in her uptight way. Cosima frowns.

“Paul said they had a lab here,” is all Sarah says as she climbs to her feet, and Cosima sneaks a glance at the third figure – Paul – standing guard by the door. She unlocks her door, letting the odd trio into her apartment.

“Delphine’s home,” she says after they’re all inside, pushing the door closed with her back. 

“She’s what?”

“In her apartment,” Cosima says. “I called the police and when we got there she was just… there.”

“Where did she go?” asks Alison, and Cosima shrugs and shakes her head.

“I don’t know,” she says. “But she said she saw Kira there. So she’s all right.”

“You gonna talk to her about it?” Sarah says, bristling with a strange energy that Cosima can’t read. Cosima shrugs again.

“I’m not sure if I trust her.”

“Some use you are,” Sarah says, nearly spitting in in Cosima’s face before she stalks out the door, leaving Cosima confused in her wake.

Alison makes it to the door before Paul, putting her hand on his chest as he tries to follow. “Let me, she says,” and Paul just nods as Alison slips out the door. Cosima feels her heart sink.

They stare at each other, strangers left alone.

“You can sit if you want,” says Cosima, but Paul shakes his head.

“I’m fine,” he says, and Cosima nods distractedly and starts to pick up the pieces of her apartment, papers and books scattered everywhere. It hasn’t been this messy, she muses, since—

Cosima chokes that thought before it can finish, and she quietly finishes picking up her things, Paul shifting from foot to foot in the corner.

“Did you love Beth?” Cosima blurts out, then slaps her hand over her mouth. “I’m so sorry, I just meant…” 

“No.” Cosima looks up in surprise. Paul finally sits down in a chair in the corner, weighed down by the truth, perhaps. “No.”

“Could you have?” Cosima asks, wincing at the way her voice cracks, how her hands have started shaking of their own accord. She tucks them into her sleeves. Paul frowns, his eyebrows furrowing, then he looks up at Cosima, and she sees the pieces click into place.

“We’re still people,” he says, “underneath. We think. We feel. Sometimes it’s not what they tell us to…” He gestures towards the door, where Sarah and Alison have disappeared behind, though the sound of muffled crying floats through the cracks, Alison’s murmured whispered barely audible through the heavy door.

“Sometimes,” says Cosima, and she stares at her sleeves and thinks of the cell phone in her pocket. 

“You’ll know,” says Paul, as the door opens and Alison steps through. “What’s real and what’s not. You know the real Delphine, as much a you think you don’t.”

Cosima scoffs. “Did Beth know the real you?”

She misses the wounded look on Paul’s face as she turns to face the opening door, Alison slipping in, followed by Sarah.

No one says a word about the tear tracks on Sarah’s cheeks.

“It’s a mother thing,” Alison whispers as she and Cosima lie on the floor face to face that night, forfeiting the bed to Sarah and Paul. Cosima’s heart clenches with a jolt. Annais, she thinks. Annais needs to know.

Cosima waits until she hears all of their breathing slow to a steady pace before sneaking out of her own apartment, clutching her red coat and Delphine’s phone as she tiptoes out the door.

Annais picks up on the second ring. “Delphine?” she asks, her voice cracking.

“It’s me,” she says, and Annais sighs softly on the other end. “But…” Cosima says, and she can hear Annais tense up on the other end of the line. “… she’s back. At her place.”

“You didn’t check her house?”

“Of course I did,” Cosima snaps, then pulls back. “I’m sorry, yes, it was empty, but I called the police like you asked and when we showed up this morning she was there, right as rain.”

Cosima decides not to mention the bruises she’d seen purpling under Delphine’s shirt.

Annais starts to cry. “Thank you,” she says. “Thank you for taking care of her.”

“I didn’t—“ Cosima starts, but it’s too late, Annais begging off to tell her husband that Delphine has been found. The line goes silent.

“I didn’t do anything,” she finishes, frowning at the phone in her hand.

***

Cosima doesn’t bother knocking when she gets to Delphine’s, just opens the door and walks inside. She can’t stop the sharp inhale of breath, the way her heart thuds in fear when she sees Delphine splayed out on the floor.

Delphine gives her an embarrassed look. “I tripped,” she says.

“Over your broken leg?”

Delphine looks up sharply at Cosima.

“Let me take a look,” Cosima says, kneeling next to Delphine, hands outstretched but not touching. Waiting for permission.

“Non,” says Delphine, shaking her head. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine.”

Delphine takes a few steadying breaths, preparing herself to say something – but the words don’t come. Cosima tries on an encouraging smile. “I’m not a doctor like you,” she says. “But I can help.”

“Not that kind of doctor,” Delphine says, automatically, and they both look up in surprise, smiling at the familiar joke. When Delphine had gotten her doctorate – at least in California, anyway – Cosima’s parents had taken them both out to dinner, and they’d spent the night drinking expensive wine and brainstorming the ways Delphine could misuse her new title.

Cosima and Delphine had stumbled home that night and figured out some ways of their own, too.

Delphine bites her lip. “I was just…”

“Hanging out on the floor?” Cosima finishes.

“I was hungry,” Delphine says quietly, and Cosima’s stomach churns as she fingers Delphine’s phone in her pocket. It was her only lifeline, her only link to the outside world, and Cosima’d kept it to herself.

“Let me help you up.”

Delphine shakes her head, no, but it’s too late; Cosima already has her arms around Delphine’s torso and hauls her, as gently as she can, to her feet. Delphine takes a quick inhale of pain and Cosima immediately loosens her grip, instead allowing the taller woman to lean on her, her arm loosely steadying her ribs. Together they hobble back to Delphine’s bed. They sit down, side by side, and they sit for a moment, both panting from exertion.

Cosima realizes her arm is still around Delphine, and she separates with a shock. Delphine does the same, keening over before she rights herself on the bed. Cosima should be hurt by the way Delphine seems to propel herself away from her, or she would, if it didn’t feel like Delphine was trying to protect her in doing it.

“I can get you something to eat,” Cosima offers.

“It’s fine,” Delphine says. “I’m not really hungry.”

Cosima doesn’t have the energy to argue. She sits for a moment, staring at her hands. She watches Delphine out of the corner of her eye. Delphine gives her a longing look, then wipes it clear from her face, slipped behind a steely gaze. 

Cosima pulls the phone out of her pocket and silently hands it to Delphine.

“Thanks,” is all Delphine says, and Cosima can’t not notice the way it pains Delphine to lean over to set it on the nighstand.

“Is any of it true?” Cosima asks, eventually, staring straight ahead. “Delphine Cormier, Immunologist?”

Cosima hears Delphine whisper the word, “Cormier,” moving the syllables around in her mouth like she’d never spoken it before. “How did you—“

“Is any of it true?”

“The degree is real,” Delphine says, her words measure, cautious. “As is my interest in the subject.”

“The subject being?”

Delphine doesn’t respond to that, instead lowering her eyes to the floor, her hands fidgeting.

A thousand questions pile up in Cosima’s mind, they whys and hows and whens and how could you. But Kira’s missing and Delphine’s more broken than Cosima’s ever seen her, and she knows it’s not just Dyad that’s found a way to crush Delphine under their heel.

Delphine’s walking on eggshells. She was quiet, reserved, sometimes, but in the last three years Cosima had never seen her pull back from saying what she really meant. Was this change due to the circumstances, the truths coming to the surface, or was this the truth, the real Delphine?

Cosima lifts her thumb to Delphine’s chin and wipes away some of the makeup, revealing the edges of a purpling bruise. Delphine pulls away from Cosima’s hand.

“Here’s where we stand,” Cosima says, rubbing the makeup between her finger and thumb. Delphine looks straight at her, chewing the inside of her cheek. “There’s a shit ton you haven’t told me. And I’m pissed—“

“--You have every right to be—“

“Let me finish. I’m pissed. I’m fucking pissed. Three years, all to shit and you just…”

Cosima sits for a moment, simmering. Delphine waits patiently this time.

“… and maybe I should have seen it coming. I mean, the signs are everywhere. But I didn’t notice. So I’m a little pissed with me, too. But I’m not a total idiot, and clearly they’re not you’re biggest fans right now. Unless this is some big game too…”

Cosima takes a calming breath.

“But Kira’s missing. And that’s all that matters. You, me, I don’t really care. I just need to know, Delphine. Sarah, Paul, Alison – they’re all here and if I don’t have plan for them they’re going to kick in the doors tomorrow morning and get us all killed. Can you help us find Kira?”

“Of course,” Delphine breathes, without a second thought. “What do you need me to do?”

***

The car Paul rented from the backwater rental place is cramped, with all of them packed in there, and smells vaguely of stale smoke and sweat. Cosima wrinkles her nose, trying not to think of what she might be sitting on. She rests her head on the window, cooled by the night air, and watches the streetlights as they pass. The car slows to a stop as Sarah pulls up in front of the large imposing building. She feels the woman next to her start vibrating in fear and instinctively puts a comforting hand on her leg.

In the driver’s seat, Sarah fumbles with her walkie talkie, the matching set in Cosima’s hand. 

“You ready?” Sarah asks, and Cosima nods, clutching the walkie. Sarah climbs out of the car as Paul and Alison do the same, each with meticulously copied directions in their hands. Cosima rolls down her window. “These better be right,” Sarah says, waving her copy in front of the window.”

“They are,” Delphine says quietly, and Cosima’s hand is still on her good leg so she gives it a comforting squeeze.

“’Cause if they’re not…”

Paul looks over his shoulder. “We’d better go,” he says, all business and Sarah nods. Alison looks terrified but she nods to, her hand ghosting her side, where her gun is hidden.

“You know what to do,” Cosima says, and they disappear into the night.


	7. Chapter 7

You wait in the car with Cosima, your fingers drumming nervously on your cast as Cosima stares at the window, at the walkie talkie, at her hands. At anything but you. Inside, you’re quietly ecstatic that you’re even there at all. At least until they come running back to the car, Kira’s limp body in their arms. Sarah’s screaming and Alison’s waving her gun but you don’t hear them, your eyes fixed on Cosima, your heart thudding in your chest.

There’s blood on the crown of Kira’s head, staining her hair, and you know it’s your fault, for even thinking that this could be a good thing. The universe has always kept you in check. The best and worst moments of your life always seem to happen in the same breath. You should have known better than to tempt fate like that.

You’ve certainly learned that lesson before.

You’d only been together for a few months then. Cosima was – Cosima is – someone who made your forget yourself. You realized at some point that that was probably a good thing.

It started as an ordinary date, or as ordinary a date as you can have with Cosima Niehaus on your arm. Her passion for life was infectious and oozed into every facet of her life. You’d skipped rocks by the bay and stolen bikes for your first date, barely evading arrest as you wound through the streets, collapsing in a back alley, out of breath, your cheeks hurting from laughing and pumped full of adrenaline. She’d kissed you then, pushed up against a wall and still sweating, and you’d forgotten to be nervous, that you’d never kissed a woman before. 

You’d stolen fireworks that night, the best night – dates with Cosima usually ended up with some sort of petty theft involved – and taken them out to the bay to light them off. You’d been nervous, scared, the whole time, always looking over your shoulder. You were convinced that the cops were going to come over and arrest the both of you any second. Your heart didn’t stop beating painfully in your chest, though, but after a while you realized that maybe it wasn’t the threat of capture, but the woman sitting next to you, that was making you feel that way. That maybe it was the way her eyes sparkled as the fireworks exploded above you, the way she giggled as she ran away from a freshly lit flare, the way she’d clutched your hand as you craned your necks to look at the sky above you.

That was the first night she’d taken you home, to her dingy single dorm room that she proudly declared she'd secured by claiming to be allergic to everything under the sun. In the first months of your relationship you’d moved slowly, painfully slowly, though you never seemed to actually talk about it. Cosima sensed your hesitation and interpreted it for shyness, first timers’ nerves, and had patiently, lovingly, held back, monitoring your every interaction, every small movement you made. Her eyes were constantly searching for yours and every time you were together she’d ask you if what she was doing was okay. Ghosting her hands over your hips – was that okay? she’d ask. Slipping her hands under your shirt – she’d pause and you’d groan, and she’d ask again with a smile on her lips. Is this okay? You’d nod, enthusiastically, every time. Of course it was okay. It was the most alive you’d ever felt.

It wasn't how the story was supposed to play out. On your first day as a TA, Aldous had tucked your hair behind your ear and reminded you that you needed to get close, as close as possible. "Be her best friend," he'd said. "The one person in the world she trusts." You'd nodded, the part of your scalp that his fingers had brushed tingling. Your heart fluttered as you stepped in front of the class to introduce yourself, Delphine Beraud, their TA for the year. Your eyes found Cosima quickly; she didn't much look like the others, thick glasses and a nose ring, but she'd looked exactly like her picture, down to the energy that seemed to radiate from her very being. 

It took you weeks to get up the nerve to talk to her. While ordinarily you defaulted to quiet, more reserved, Aldous had insisted that Cosima would need someone to keep up with her. Someone fun. Someone outgoing. So you'd tried on extroversion like a dress that was too small, slipping and pinching in the wrong places. You smiled brightly and hoped no one could see. 

It was Cosima that approached you, in the end. After weeks of Aldous getting more and more impatient, as every day you swore today would be the day, she walked right up to you in the library and plunked herself beside you. 

"You're the immunology TA, right?" You nodded, suddenly sitting up straight on the edge of your seat. "Good," she sighed and slumped down beside you, pulling out her textbooks. "Don't tell anyone, but I am so lost." You skipped your meeting with Leekie to sit with her the whole afternoon, slowly explaining every point covered in lectures. Cosima was smart, but stubborn; it took a long time for her to come around from her own ideas, but, eventually, she would. You told Aldous everything that night, dutifully recounting every conversation, every concept she'd struggled with, every tangent you'd wandered down. You'd felt dirty after that.

Cosima struggled through the entire semester, your meetings becoming a regular, if random occurrence. You lived in the library, waiting for her to appear out of thin air, until she quirked a teasing eyebrow at you and asked if you even had an office. It was much easier to keep up with your coursework during the day after that. You'd spend your days in the lab or your office, your head down, only disturbed by Cosima slipping in for help, or Aldous, demanding an update. 

At night, you'd sit in your apartment and wonder what you were doing. You'd confided that in Leekie once, and you'd spent the afternoon being lectured in his hotel room. You’d bounced out of his room the next morning, filled with academic zeal, your heart fluttering with the possibilities.   
And then you'd seen Cosima and the cycle started again. You did everything in your power to not spend your evening alone in your apartment after that. 

You told Aldous that Cosima asked you out.

That wasn’t, strictly speaking, the truth. You know you were wrong to do it, that you violated not only the integrity of the test but Cosima’s trust as well, but you could sense the way you and Cosima were dancing around each other, a game of romantic chicken that you, of course, lost. You’d reasoned with yourself that it was an inevitability, and that the way you’d been circling each other was infringing on the study. Leaving your relationship on uneven footing meant a lack of progress, a lack of trust as you withheld what you were truly feeling from each other. It was probably an entrapment of some sort, but you’d wondered why it was so important to you that Cosima asked you out. Because what that was really ensuring was that she’d have no choice but to blame herself if it went pear shaped - she made the first move. She chose to trust you.

But she didn’t. You chose her. 

You’d stammered as you’d asked her out, in a darkened lab as she headed out the door after a marathon study session. The extroverted veneer slipped and tore as you spoke and you found yourself tripping over your words, suddenly unsure of yourself. Cosima tilted her head at you and smiled at you. “You’re shy,” she said.

You froze, caught, convinced your entire ruse would be up right there as she figured out why you were pretending to be someone you weren’t. “It’s cute,” she finished with a smile before accepting your invitation. 

From there on out you didn’t worry about it anymore, letting your reserved nature take a backseat to Cosima’s exuberance. It was quietly exhilarating and you loved it, even though you felt like you’d just strapped yourself onto a rollercoaster without the end of the ride in sight.

That first night in Cosima’s dorm, though, you’d felt more calm than you had in ages. Since before you finished your own undergraduate degree and had ended up on the other side of the world, desperate and salivating to join Aldous and his team. That night you felt for the first time that everything was clicking into place, the way her hand felt in yours on the beach, the way your bodies fit together in her bed, the way your breathing intermingled between you, Cosima’s breath soft and steady against your own.

Your cell phone went off in the middle of the night. You dove for it, silencing it quickly before Cosima woke up. You watched her closely, monitoring her movements. She rolled over, grasping at the empty space you'd left behind, but she stayed asleep and you breathed a sigh of relief. "Open up," said the text on your phone. "We know you're in there."

You glanced at the door, terror closing your throat. You knew they had a long arm but -- 

You looked at the phone in your hands and the woman in her bed, her body still trying to curl towards your empty space. You pulled on your shirt and pretended you didn't have a choice. 

"Studying late?" was all Leekie whispered in your ear with a wink as he passed by, entering the dorm room like he owned it, followed by a familiar lab tech pushing a trolley loaded with instruments and syringes. Leekie settled comfortable on Cosima's chair as the tech set up, injecting something into Cosima's arm. 

"Sedative," said the tech. "You can speak freely now. She won't wake up."

"Would you like to stay for the testing?" Leekie asked with a smile. "We're starting a new protocol tonight. Cosima's our favourite lab rat."

You tried to come up with an argument, a reprimand but when you saw Cosima being hooked up to all those machines and wires the term lab rat is the only one that makes sense, so you let it go. It was your job, after all. Cosima the person disappeared under the science and you let her, because admitting she's a person would mean admitting you're not. 

Your hair stood on end, goosebumps peppering your arms, so you pulled on your sweater, like you could cast off the feeling like it was only a breeze.

The first few tests went off without a hitch. You watched, self-consciously suppressing your interest as they drew blood and ran ekgs. They were as gentle as they could be, given the circumstances. You found yourself absentmindedly drawing the sheet up to cover Cosima every time she was exposed, only realising what you were doing after Leekie gave you a long, assessing look. Your fingers twitched as you suppressed the urge after that. 

"And now, the piece de resistance," Leekie said, holding up a syringe with a faint blue liquid. "Delphine, would you care to do the honours?"

"What is it?" you asked, as you tentatively took the syringe from his hands, not even stopping to point out that you'd never done an injection before.

"You'll see," he said with a wink, and you operated on autopilot, injecting where the tech pointed. 

Cosima stopped breathing almost immediately, her breath choking in her chest. 

She took a few choking breaths before stopping completely, her lips turning an alarming shade of blue. You'd looked at Leekie, realising he was watching your reaction and willing yourself to stay calm, the syringe still in your hands. 

After a few tense seconds the lab tech pushed passed you, administering another injection. 

Cosima immediately started breathing again. 

"She must have been allergic," Leekie said breezily on the way out the door, their instruments neatly packed up once again. You realised in a single moment that he never did tell you what was in the syringe and in a flash understood what the experiment really was:

A reminder. 

The morning after testing, Cosima woke up to find you curled into her chest, tear marks on your cheeks. She wiped them away gently with her thumb. "Bad dream?" she asked, not hearing the roughness in her own voice from but you did, and tears sprung up in your eyes again. All you could do was nod quietly. All you could do was lie. The truth, you reasoned, would be more painful. For her, at the very least. She stroked your hair and tucked your head under her chin, holding you close, breathing long, calming breaths that you matched in kind. You stared at her chest as it rose and fell, her heartbeat strong and fierce under her skin. 

You knew you couldn't keep straddling the line, but choosing meant exposure and you weren't ready for that, either.

Now three years later both of those sides are crashing together, chewing you up and spitting you out, broken and useless. And what's worse is now you've broken other people too. 

"Delphine?" Cosima says, and you realise you were staring, frozen in place, your hand on Kira's head. They're all staring at you. 

You look over at Kira. Her chest rises and falls.

You start breathing again too.


End file.
